


Kiss It Better

by thecelliabration



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Fluff, Frerard, M/M, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, There isn't any smut sorry to disappoint
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-15
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-08 14:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,982
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6858079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecelliabration/pseuds/thecelliabration
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soulmate AU where you receive the same injuries as your soul mate does. Naturally, that's a big inconvenience for Gerard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kiss It Better

**Author's Note:**

> I just really love soul mate AUs. Also, this is the first Frerard one shot I've ever finished. ALSO, if you're seeing this, hey Kim.

Gerard feels like shit, as per usual.

He hasn't even opened his eyes yet but he could feel it. His muscles are sore and aching, his back is _killing him_ , and there's a tiny spot somewhere in his leg that hurts to fucking hell, and god fucking damn it, not this shit again.

"Motherfucker!" Gerard yells out to no one in particular, opening his eyes. The sun glares at him through his window. He glares back.

There's a sound from his door. Mikey. The bastard's smirking at him, the little fucker. He pushes his glasses up higher on his nose and leans against the door frame. "What's up, Gee?"

"My fucking soul mate is a fucking idiot and I am sick of it," he tells his brother honestly, gritting his teeth. He sits up and pulls at his pajama pants. There's a purple spot of tender skin just below his knee, like he knew there would be. He swears when he sees it and rubs at his eyes in frustration. "It's like they have a fucking death wish, I swear to God, I am going to flip my shit."

Mikey chuckles, because he's Satan and enjoys his older brother's pain. "Stop being so over-dramatic. It's not like it hurts."

Gerard frowns. He's right, of course. It didn't really _hurt_ hurt, but, in a way, it kind of did. It's like a memory of pain, like when you remember that one time you fell down a tree and how painful that was, and you shudder at the memory. Remembered pain is nothing compared to actual pain. But Gerard rolls his eyes at Mikey anyway, because he likes being a drama queen and also, he can't stop ranting about how accident-prone his soulmate is, wherever the living fuck they may be. God, can Gerard just meet them already so he could smack them in the head?

"Of course it hurts," Gerard defends. "My soul mate is out there getting hurt and I'm not there to kiss it better." Before Mikey could open his mouth again, probably to comment about how much of a sap Gerard's being, Gerard points an accusatory finger at him. "Just shut up. Stop flaunting the fact that you've met your soul mate already. Fuck off."

Mikey's grin widens. "He's coming over today, by the way."

"Oh, well," Gerard grumbles, sliding out of bed. "My cue to leave."

"You don't have to. Pete already thinks you hate him, don't encourage his theories."

"I don't hate _him._ I hate you two. As a unit." Gerard picks up a pair of pants from his dresser and pulls them on, not bothering to take a shower. He checks his reflection in the mirror. His hair is only about 63% greasy. He can live with that.

It's not like he's going to meet his soulmate today.

His back muscles are still sore and tight, so when he pulls on his Black Flag t-shirt, he winces. Seriously. Whoever decided that soulmates needed to receive the same injuries could go fuck themselves, honestly, that is such an inconvenient and painful idea. Especially for people like him, who apparently have Evil Knievel-wannabes for soul mates. He would hate his soul mate just for that, because Gerard has really pale skin and bruises stand out a lot, but he can't. It is physically impossible for him to hate his soul mate because A) They're his _soul mate_ and B) He's never even met them.

He twirls his eyeliner pencil around his fingers, wondering if he should put some on today. He isn't going anywhere particularly special, but there's always a small part of him that thinks he has to look good every single second of his life, because he literally could meet _them_ anywhere and he doesn't want to look like a gross hobo when he does. Sighing to himself, he traces the black material over his eyes anyway. He does it carefully so he doesn't stab his eyes out, because, unlike his soul mate, he doesn't want them to get hurt any more than they should be getting hurt. He snorts to himself. The motherfucker better buy him coffee every single day of their lives. And watch Star Wars with him whenever he wants. God, Gerard just wants to meet them already so he could start loving the fuck out of them.

When he deems himself presentable (except for his greasy hair, which he's given up on ages ago), he bids his little brother goodbye and walks out of their apartment, not bothering to wait for a reply. He briefly wonders where he should go today.

Coffee. Definitely coffee. Luckily there's a quaint little café he likes to frequent, because not a lot of people go there and they make his coffee exactly the way he likes it, so with that in mind he sets off, whistling a tune stuck in his head for some reason.

He doesn't actively look for his soul mate most days, so he ponders if it's his own damn fault that he's suffering so much (both physically and emotionally). He doesn't even know what they're like, except maybe that they have a sadist/masochist thing going on, because seriously, who gets hurt that much? He doesn't even know if _they_ is a he or a she. He wouldn't mind either way. Gender is irrelevant when it comes to the love of your life, in his opinion.

He's in the coffee shop before he even registers it, and the barista, his friend Ray, greets him happily. "Gerard! I haven't seen you in a while."

Gerard manages a weak smile back as he approaches the counter. "I've been wallowing in isolation and sadness."

Ray gives him a sympathetic look. "Still no luck, huh?"

Gerard shrugs. He doesn't really want to talk about it. At least, not with Ray. He's a good friend, but he won't understand. He found his soul mate when he was like, twelve. He and and Christa have practically been married ever since. Gerard couldn't deny how jealous he was. At least if Ray woke up to bruises he could ask Christa how she got them.

"The usual," Ray asks, but not really, because he already knows the answer. Gerard takes his cup gratefully after Ray prepares it for him and goes to sit in his favorite booth, the cozy one in the corner where he can see the people passing by the windows and silently judge them.

He spots a couple kissing underneath a tree and automatically frowns. Get a fucking room, he wants to say, but there's a bigger part of him screaming WHY CAN'T I HAVE THAT. He's twenty-seven now, for God's sake. Twenty-seven years of looking for his accident-prone soul mate and no such luck. He's convinced that his soul mate is actually a fucking psychopath and he's not actually supposed to end up with him. He miserably sips at his coffee, grumbling as he shifts his gaze away from the vomit-inducing couple, and then tenses when he sees pink.

Pink. Pete Wentz pink. The dude's hair is too fucking easy to spot and he really _doesn't_ hate Pete, not really, but seeing him makes Gerard so insanely jealous of his little brother that there's a little bit of contempt growing in him. He could see Pete making his way to their apartment, presumably, and he has his mouth open and his arms are gesturing madly, and oh, he's talking to someone. Okay, that makes sense. He gets a clearer but brief view before they enter Gerard's apartment building. It's a guy, as short as Pete, which he didn't know was possible. Pete says something to him again, and then Gerard sees the dude laugh, and fuck, Gerard's eyes widen because his stomach does a double flip all of a sudden before Pete and his friend disappear from his eyes entirely.

"What the fuck was that?" he mumbles to himself, gripping his Styrofoam cup. Was that some reflex action from disliking Pete so much that it rubs off on whoever he interacts with? Was that a good stomach flip or a bad one? He couldn't figure it out. He looked at the building entrance again, and then his coffee cup, and then the window. He can see his reflection in it.

He startles when he finds a bruise he didn't see this morning, a small purple spot on his neck, right below where his jaw met his ear. Sighing, he curses his soul mate in his head for the millionth time, and sips at his coffee, ignoring the remembered pain.

Back in the Way apartment, Mikey frowns to himself as he squints at the instructions at the back of the pancake mix. He promised Pete he would make pancakes for him one day, and he decided that morning that that day would be today. Mikey can't cook for shit, but he loves Pete, so he's willing to sacrifice his kitchen and his eyebrows, or any other part of him that might get burned off accidentally.

There's a knock on the door which Mikey assumes is Pete so he just calls out, "Come on in!" and goes back to the pancake batter conundrum. But when the door swings open, he hears laughter that is _definitely not Pete_ , and he fears for his life for a total of two seconds before he hears his soul mate's voice saying, "You're a fucking idiot, you know that, right, Frank?"

The guy who Mikey assumes is Frank laughs again. "I'm getting desperate, dude."

Mikey abandons the pancake mix in favor of getting a look at who the fuck Pete brought with him, who is apparently a desperate fucking idiot. When Mikey appears in Pete's line of sight, Pete just immediately lights up and forgets Frank altogether, closing the distance between them and taking Mikey's face in his hands and kissing him.

Mikey's soul lights up in response. He makes a happy noise at the back of his throat and slides his hands down Pete's sides, wrapping it around his waist.

"Pete, you promised," Frank whines. "No rubbing it in my face that I'm a depressed loser who's going to die alone."

Pete grunts, which, roughly translated, means _Fuck off and let me kiss my beautiful boyfriend because I love him and no one cares about your existence, Frank._ Mikey hums in agreement.

Finally, the couple breaks away, breathless and dizzy. Mikey smiles stupidly at Pete and slides his arm around his shoulder before they face Frank again, who just stares at them glumly.

"Sorry," Mikey says, although he's not sorry at all.

"No, you're not," Frank deadpans.

Mikey grins again. "I'm really not. I'm Mikey, by the way." He extends his free hand out to Frank, who shakes it good-naturedly nonetheless.

"I know. Pete can't shut up about you. I'm Frank, though, because I'm pretty sure you've never even heard about me, considering how Pete can physically only think and talk about Mikey Way."

"Both those things are true," Pete says, grinning. Then he turns to Mikey with a concerned look on his face. "I'm sorry for bringing him, he was having a bad day, and I'm afraid that he's going to get himself into some stupid shit again because the dude is fucking suicidal but if you want I can totally get rid of him, don't be mad at me, Mikey—"

"Wow, way to make me feel better, Pete," Frank interrupts dryly.

Mikey pats Pete's pink hair lovingly. "It's okay." Then he turns to Frank. "You suicidal, dude?"

"He's exaggerating, but I'm starting to question myself," Frank answers truthfully.

"Why?"

Frank rolls his eyes the same time Pete snorts. "The matters of the heart," Pete answers for him.

"Oh," Mikey says, thinking of Gerard. He totally understands. "No luck, huh?"

Frank makes an exasperated sound. "It's like, I'm going out, meeting people every day, I'm on every fucking dating site there is, I'm fucking _looking_ , dude, but they're nowhere and it's getting really fucking frustrating because I just want to love the fuck out of someone and buy them dinner and watch movies and have great, mind-blowing sex every fucking day."

"How specific," Mikey notes.

Frank throws his hands up in the air before slumping down on their beat-up couch. "I'm going to fucking die alone. I'm never finding them."

"Hey, come on, don't lose hope," Mikey says encouragingly, because he's a far better friend than Pete is even though he's only known Frank for like, six minutes. "It'll happen. Stop trying so hard."

Frank snorts again. "I wish I could. But, like, I fucking feel _him_. You know? He's out there."

Mikey raises an eyebrow. "You know he's a guy?"

"I—no, but I feel like he is. And he's out there. Waiting for me." Frank's blushing now, looking away from Pete and Mikey suddenly. In that moment the couple could feel just how sad Frank really is, how badly he wants to find his soul mate. They share sympathetic looks with one another before joining Frank on the couch, sitting on either side of him and hugging him through some sort of complex understanding that Frank needs a hug.

"Oh, no, come on, guys, I'm fine," Frank says, although his voice falters in the end.

"You want anything, Frankie?" Pete says, patting Frank's knee.

"Coffee," he says sadly.

"I'll get you some," Mikey says, getting up from the couch to fix him a cup of coffee. As he's stirring the hot mug he ponders of Frank's love problems and how he's helping him when just this morning he was laughing at Gerard's. Oh, well, that was different. Gerard was complaining about his back problems and Frank's complaining about never finding the love of his life. Frank had his priorities in check, seeing as Gerard never actively looked for _his_ soul mate.

Mikey comes back to find Frank's head on Pete's shoulder and Mikey smiles to himself because he loves his boyfriend very much and he's such a good person, no matter what anyone told him. Mikey is so absorbed in loving Pete, however, that he doesn't notice the copy of _Fangoria_ strewn haphazardly on the floor, and of course he trips on it, and of course he has to be holding a steaming cup of coffee that tragically spills all over Frank's lap.

"Holy fucking shit!" Frank yelps, jumping out of the couch.

"Shit, sorry, Frank!"

"It's okay, it's just—ah, fuck, that's hot." Frank frowns to himself. "Is it okay if I take off my pants?"

"Be my guest, it's my fault, anyway," Mikey says, muttering another apology. He eyes the coffee stain on the carpet. Man, Gee is _so_ going to be pissed.

Frank unbuckles his belt quite self-consciously, but he knows he's safe around Pete and Mikey, who literally only see each other. He bends down to pull them off, and his back cricks immediately and he lets out another yelp.

"What? Did you get second degree burns? Fuck, you did, didn't you—"

Frank interrupts Mikey before an aneurysm could pop in his brain. "No, it's just, my back."

Mikey pauses. "Your back?"

"Like I said, babe. Suicidal. Threw himself into a mosh pit," Pete explains.

"It was a good idea at the time."

Pete and Frank continue to argue over whether or not Frank's escapades are cool or just plain stupid, but Mikey is too busy thinking to really notice the conversation, because he's staring at Frank but thinking of Gerard, and he's staring at Frank's bare legs and a small spot of purple on his leg and the fact that Frank apparently has a death wish according to Pete.

He's seen that fucking bruise before and it was on his brother's fucking leg this fucking morning.

"Both of you shut up," Mikey says, a little forcefully. He's still staring at Frank's leg, working the cogs in his brain.

"Baby, are you...are you checking Frank out?" Pete whispers incredulously, a little jealousy seeping into his voice.

Mikey ignores him. "Frank. Turn around."

"I—what?"

"Turn the fuck around so I can see the back of your fucking neck."

Frank looks at Pete, who just shrugs, before turning around. Mikey steps closer to inspect his neck and tenses when he sees exactly what he needs to see—a small triangular spot near his ear. He taps it lightly and Frank winces. "I, uh, nicked myself while trying to shave my own head. Long story. I was going through a rough time."

Pete says, "Your whole life is a rough time."

Mikey isn't even listening anymore. He has his eyes closed, and fuck, he's a genius, and he's already scrambling in his pocket for his phone.

"Mikey, what's going on?" Pete asks, but Mikey doesn't hear him.

Gerard picks up on the second ring. "Maybe coffee is my soul mate," he tells Mikey.

"Shut up and get your ass here right now."

"Um, what the fuck?"

"Gerard, I am not fucking around you need to get home right fucking _now_ because he's here, oh my fucking god, he's fucking here sitting on the couch being a sap and he's _here_ but you're not, you fucking dimwit."

"He's—who?" Gerard asks, although his heart is already beating irrationally and he's sliding out of his booth. He's here? "Mikey—" he says again, but the phone is already dead, and Gerard's heartbeat is so loud he can hear it in his ears and fuck, suddenly he can't walk fast enough. He breaks into a jog, ignoring Ray calling out to him. Once he gets outside he breaks into a run, because fuck, he feels it. He fucking knows it. Mikey doesn't fuck around.

His back aches and his bruises are kind of tingling again, like they know they're near their original source or whatever, but fuck, it's making Gerard so excited, this remembered pain flooding his system, that he practically sprints as fast as his slightly out of shape body could allow him to until he's standing outside his apartment door, taking in huge gulps of air.

Inside, Mikey points at Frank. "Get the door."

"What?" And then Gerard raps on the door angrily, so of course Frank is spooked the fuck out. "What the fuck?"

Mikey shakes his head and instead goes to sit beside Pete, laying his head on his boyfriend's shoulder. "Just answer it, Frank."

Frank eyes the couple warily before pulling the door open and seeing—oh. _Oh_.

Gerard stares for two seconds too long, and he sees a bruise on Frank's pretty neck, right below the place where his pretty jaw meets his pretty ears, and he touches his own bruise lightly. Then he shakes his head and says, "You stupid motherfucker," and then takes Frank's face in his hands and kisses him.

Frank doesn't question anything because this gorgeous guy is kissing him and he fucking knows it's _him it's him it's him._ He wraps his arms around Gerard's waist, pulling him closer and deepening the kiss, tilting his head to get better access. Fuck, he tastes like coffee and magic, Frank thought to himself as his tongue skirted around Gerard's lips and dipping inside his mouth tentatively.

Gerard makes a happy noise at the back of his throat and kisses him fiercer, running his fingers through the shorter man's hair and moaning into their kiss. _Oh my god, it's happening_ , he thought.

They would've gone on forever but unfortunately humans need oxygen to continue to survive, so they broke away, breathless and light-headed, with smiles so wide it actually hurt. Gerard kind of stumbled forward when Frank pulled him into the apartment and closed the door behind him.

"It's you," Frank says in awe, his eyes landing on the bruise on Gerard's neck.

"And it's _you_ —you crazy little shit, why are you always getting hurt so much?" Gerard thought he should be angry, but fuck, his soul mate is the most gorgeous thing to ever grace the world and he already wants to start living the rest of his life with him.

Frank laughs, nuzzling his nose into Gerard's neck. "Sorry, I thought it would make it easier to look for you."

"What, until you accidentally kill the both of us?" Gerard whispers, closing his eyes at the new sensations bubbling in his system as Frank kisses his neck softly.

Frank hummed a little, a sexy, soft sound, and Gerard's practically ready to get down on his knees and give his beautiful soul mate the best blowjob of his fucking life when they're interrupted by Mikey coughing not-so-subtlely from the couch.

"I will fucking end you, Mikeyway," Gerard says seriously.

"Wh—I got you guys together!" he replies indignantly.

"And now I want you out of the fucking apartment so I can spend time with—" Gerard looks at Frank expectantly.

"Frank," he supplies, grinning.

"Frank," Gerard repeats dreamily. Frank leans in for another kiss.

"Fine, we're leaving," Pete says, rolling his eyes. He hands Frank's pants back to him.

Gerard eyes the pants and then Frank's legs, only then realizing Frank is actually half-naked, and noting that he officially has the nicest legs in human history. "Why aren't you wearing pants?" he asks Frank.

"Mikey spilled coffee on me," he explains.

Gerard whirls on Mikey, inexplicably angry for some reason. "What the fuck, Mikey!"

"It was an accident!"

Gerard opens his mouth but then closes it again. "Oh my fucking god, I _felt_ that, earlier in the coffee shop, I thought it was just some weird burn—"

Frank is grinning madly, taking Gerard's hands and sliding it into his own. "I—you. It's you. I finally found you. Hi, oh my gosh, hi." He's openly blushing and babbling and it is the most adorable thing Gerard has seen in his life he doesn't even notice Mikey and Pete saying goodbye and disappearing out of their door.

"We're alone," Frank whispers, then pulls Gerard to his own couch as Gerard follows blindly, feeling vaguely like a baby deer.

"Hi," Gerard says nervously.

Frank smiles, because he loves the fuck out of this guy so much already. "What's your fucking name?"

"Gerard, oh my god, it's Gerard," he says in reply, laughing. Frank crashes his lips into Gerard's once more, tasting the magic and sparkles and coffee again, and he makes a low growl in his throat because he really does not like the fact that they're both wearing clothes right now.

Frank pushes Gerard down on the couch and they both groan, not out of pleasure. "My fucking back," Gerard whines, although he's kind of laughing. "I swear to God, what do you _do_?"

"I jumped in a mosh pit, I'm so sorry," Frank says, burying his face in the crook of Gerard's neck. He kisses the bruise there. "I'm sorry for this one, too."

"You're very accident-prone, I've observed."

Frank hesitates. "Actually, I, uh. Sometimes, I, um, do it on purpose."

Gerard eyes him warily. "Is this some kink I should know of?"

"It's just that—it's the only way I can possibly spot you. You're—I've been looking for you for-fucking-ever, I'm sorry, I was getting so desperate, I've wanted to find you for _so long—"_

Gerard kisses him, partly to shut him up, mostly because he is the best kisser in the world and he'd die if he doesn't kiss Frank some more. "You've found me. No more accidental on purpose injuries, okay?"

Frank pauses and then bats his eyelashes at Gerard in fake innocence. "Except for when kinky sex calls for it, right?"

Gerard blinked, because he's pretty sure he's never going to let go of Frank ever again, seriously, he's going to die getting fucked real good, and that made him happy. "If that's what you're into, you crazy motherfucker," he laughs, and then brings Frank closer again.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments would be much appreciated!


End file.
